


The Rest of Our Lives

by mia6363



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 21:39:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5471645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mia6363/pseuds/mia6363
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I don’t know, as a kid I watched a lot of movies, you know? And at first I figured like… I’d be on some great adventure that would take me away from it all, you know? Like Indiana Jones comes around and is all, ‘Hey Stiles, buddy, come with me we’ve got to go save the world.’ Then… you and… everything happened… then I just… I figured I’d die before I was eighteen.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Rest of Our Lives

Stiles tossed down the last one of his suitcases, exhaling loudly. His knees wobbled and he wondered when his room had become so small, his desk and bed strange. Downstairs his father was in the kitchen. Everything smelled the same, looked the same—maybe it was just Stiles who was different. 

He went down the stairs, drawn in by the smell of coffee. His father turned, a slight smile on his face. 

“So, feel any different, being a graduate and all?”

“No.” Stiles shrugged, smiling a little. “I mean, I don’t feel like I’m going on a full on Hoffman-existential meltdown. No need for a Mrs. Robinson.” 

His father snorted. 

“Good to hear. Wouldn’t want Peter banging down my door.” He paused, his lips tugging into a brief frown. “Have you heard from him?” 

“No.” Stiles let himself smile. “I’m thinking maybe I can surprise him or—”

Knocking made them both jump. The Sheriff tilted his head back and laughed as Stiles felt his cheeks get a little warm. He strode to the door, turned the knob, and there stood Peter. 

His hands were in his pockets and he was wearing a sly smirk. Stiles might have been convinced if Peter wasn’t on the balls of his feet, leaning in close to Stiles immediately. Stiles rolled his eyes, his lips splitting into a grin. 

“Well, this was supposed to be a surprise, but I guess _someone_ was too impatient— _mmf_ —”

And yeah, whoa, Stiles would not be thinking about any sort of hypothetical Mrs. Robinson, not with Peter licking into his mouth, his teeth pulling on Stiles’s lower lip. Whenever any of their friends saw them they only saw Peter taking—taking Stiles by the hand, taking the breath from his lungs, taking him out until the wee hours of the morning—taking, taking, taking. Scott still frowned when he thought Stiles wasn’t looking. 

No one seemed to notice the little details, how Peter’s breath would stutter, how he reached for Stiles even if was just to run his fingers over Stiles’s knuckles, a soft touch as a reminder. _I’m here. I’m with you, I’m here._ Behind every smirk was a kiss that betrayed every bit of snark with irrefutable affection. Even though Stiles knew all these things, he was still floored when his father had first asked that he bring Peter over for dinner. He hadn’t even been able to sputter out a _really_ , his mouth hanging open did enough of a job. 

Stiles would never forget how his father had smiled, looking tired but… happy in a way that he never seemed to be. 

_“I like the way he looks at you. Like he can’t believe you’re with him… that he’s the luckiest guy in the room.”_

Back then it had made Stiles’s insides all squirmy. Now… all that squirming and bubbles of hot happy-crush- _lust_ had evened out into a constant warm hum that was always buzzing under the surface. Stiles pulled back, his breath puffing out between them and his cheeks a prickly-hot as Peter’s tongue darted out to quickly swipe over Stiles’s parted lips. 

“Hey now.” The Sheriff cleared his throat, peeking into the hallway. “He hasn’t returned from the war, he’s graduated college.” 

Peter took a half step back but kept his hand on Stiles’s hip. 

“I’d apologize, but I’m not sorry.” 

The Sheriff made a low, unsurprised sound in his throat. He tilted his head back toward the kitchen. 

“Just made some coffee, if you’d like to come in and get cozy.” 

Peter’s grip faltered on his hip. He swayed on his feet and Stiles leaned back against Peter. 

“Nah, I was thinking we could go for a drive. Be back later, all right?” His father waved his hand, and Stiles grinned, nudging Peter before heading out of the door. “Come on, let’s go.” 

::::

Driving at the dead of night had been one of Stiles’s favorite past times in the summer between high school and college. There was something tranquil about the pitch-black sky melting into the asphalt. He thought that it would be him and Scott taking winding back roads through Beacon Hills and talking until their voices went hoarse. But Scott had been too busy with Kira, too busy with Pack politics, just too busy. 

Peter never seemed too busy… or maybe he just wanted an excuse to get closer to Stiles. 

The Jeep purred as Peter drove, usually something Stiles would never allow out of principle, but he was too tired. 

“Sorry I’m not all… grabby-grabby right now.” Stiles yawned, slumped in his seat. “I’ll be honest, I might fall asleep mid-fuck.” 

Peter snorted as they pulled over to a dirt road.

“I missed you, but I’m not going to fuck you if you can’t keep your eyes open.” 

The Jeep rolled to a stop and Peter threw it in park. They crawled into back seat, well, Peter crawled, and Stiles was dragged. Stiles was dressed in sweats and a t-shirt, and he probably smelled like stale sweat and old anxiety from moving out of his apartment and back home—but Peter pulled Stiles into his arms and shoved his nose right against his neck. 

Stiles shivered and tried to press himself closer even though it wasn’t possible. He closed his eyes and listened to the car cool down, the lights fading off and the dark night overtaking them. 

“I just want this.” 

Peter’s words tickled over Stiles’s skin. His hands reached under Stiles’s shirt, pressing his palms against his heartbeat. He only ever whispered those kind of things in the dark. Stiles brought up Peter’s hand and kissed it, before gnawing on his fingers until Peter laughed. 

“You’re a goober.” Stiles smiled in the dark, his eyelids heavy. “I won’t tell anyone.” 

He closed his eyes and he knew that all sorts of things crept around in the night in Beacon Hills. Things that would bite, claw, and howl—but Stiles was still able to fall asleep. 

::::

Stiles woke with crusty breath and a serious need for snacks. Every place was closed except for the gas stations, so in a matter of minutes Stiles and Peter were standing in under florescent lights in an aisle of salt and sugar. Peter eyed the chips and jerky like they were an ancient puzzle while Stiles still felt sleep’s fog clinging to him. 

“You know… I never thought I’d go to college.” 

The refrigerator hummed and behind the counter was a beyond-bored looking old man. Peter glanced at Stiles. 

“It’s not like you struggled with grades.” 

Stiles shrugged. 

“I don’t know, as a kid I watched a lot of movies, you know? And at first I figured like… I’d be on some great adventure that would take me away from it all, you know? Like Indiana Jones comes around and is all, ‘Hey Stiles, buddy, come with me we’ve got to go save the world.’ Then… you and… everything happened… then I just… I figured I’d die before I was eighteen.” 

Stiles wasn’t looking at Peter. He turned over a bright red package of beef jerky, to check the sodium. He put it back and wandered down the aisle. 

“I always knew getting in would be no problem… but every day was another possible-last-day-on-earth. And now I’m a college graduate. I lived in a dorm, I had to fight over core credits and—and I never thought I’d get to do that. So now…”

The suffocating crushing feeling in his chest that had building up for years returned. The cashier scrolled through his phone and Peter was still in front of that jerky, unmoving. 

Stiles smiled through it, like he’d been smiling through everything his whole life. 

Falling into a relationship with Peter had been a part of that, not that Stiles could ever say that aloud. What had started with one adrenalin-fueled kiss after barely surviving another invasion of monsters, Stiles had time to think _why not_ before Peter’s tongue was in his mouth. Peter had started as a “well, I might as well before I meet my end,” and they’d kept going until—

Until they were still alive and in a gas station looking at snacks. 

“I could do anything… I could get a mortgage, pay off my loans—I could get married—”

Peter yanked Stiles around and _whoa_ he was being _Kissed_ with a capital K. His grip was tight, it hurt a little, and he kissed Stiles like it was going to be the last time. Stiles made a soft sound in his throat, his hands automatically going to Peter’s shoulder, but Peter kept going—he kept kissing and _kissing_ until Stiles was dizzy with it. 

His hands came up to Peter’s cheeks right when they bumped against a whole shelf of Pringles. 

The tips of his fingers dragged through wetness, and Stiles pulled back. 

“Wait—wait—” Stiles pulled back enough to see that Peter’s eyes were red and wet and he was crying, _fuck_. “Peter, what’s wrong?” 

“I-I,” Peter’s voice cracked and Stiles’s heartbeat thundered hard in his chest. “I just- I just—”

Stiles swallowed. 

“I didn’t mean to make you upset.” If anything, it made Peter more morose and Stiles floundered. “I mean, it’s fine, I mean, I’m here so woo-hoo, right?” 

Peter wiped his eyes roughly, like he was half thinking of tearing off his own skin before admitting his tears had tarnished his face. In the late hour in the middle of that gas station mart, Stiles wished he could make things better. He took a breath, to tell Peter to name anything and Stiles would do it, to tell him how to make it better

Instead, he was kissed again. Softer this time. 

“You should,” Peter spoke against his lips under the bright lights, “you should get married next.” 

Maybe Stiles really was still dreaming. His eyes closed and he kissed the corner of Peter’s mouth. 

“What?”

“You should get married next. To me.” 

A few Pringles cans fell to the floor. The cashier jerked his head up, a sharp “Hey!” piercing the air, but Stiles couldn’t care less. He pushed his fingers across Peter’s knuckles; scraping his nails against the skin just the way Peter liked it. 

“You’re not joking.”

It wasn’t a question, but Peter shook his head, his eyes sharp. 

“I’m not.”

Back home were unpacked suitcases and a diploma Stiles didn’t know what to do with. He had a pair of blown out sneakers and a strange array of journals and encyclopedias to his name. Stiles crossed his arms, smiling. 

“Well, I think you’d better get on your knees and try again. Tradition is important.” 

Peter grinned and Stiles felt like it was his birthday and Christmas all at once as Peter sank to his knees, his hands still in Stiles’s as the cashier said, “holy shit.” Stiles took a steadying breath as Peter opened his mouth, his cheeks pink and eyes bright. 

Stiles was still alive, after all these years… 

And he still had a lot to look forward to.

**Author's Note:**

> This is for pantlesswerewolf for the Steter secret santa. I hope you like it!


End file.
